New Precedents
by w0man-1n-r3d
Summary: An encounter with Agent Smith lands Angela Harris in an uncomfortable position making her choose to be his experiment, or certain death. But are Smith's motives all in the name of science? (Abandoned)
1. Prologue

Prologue.  
  
"We have a problem."  
  
Agent Smith heard the words through his earpiece before Jones could  
  
even speak them. Looking out the full length glass window over the  
  
city, he clasped his arms behind his back and walked towards the  
  
glass until his nose almost touched it.  
  
"Women Agents. Why do they insist on doing this?" Brown asked,  
  
looking at his superiors' back.  
  
"Too many humans engaged in forced sexual encounters by agents.  
  
Suspicious crimes that cannot be solved through the normal police  
  
methods. Discontent is breeding in their minds." Jones said.  
  
"Forced sexual encounters are a great method of controlling humans."  
  
Brown said, looking at Jones.  
  
"True," said Jones. "In fact it is my favourite method."  
  
"They are creating women agents because it is simply logical to do  
  
so." Smith turned around, slowly, methodically, to take in his  
  
subordinates. "There could be no other reason."  
  
"We are getting one on our team," said Jones. "What do we do with  
  
her?"  
  
"You treat her no different than you treat each other. The Mainframe  
  
says it is a trial experiment to see how well they acclimatise to the  
  
job. If it does not work, then she will simply be deleted. And  
  
neither of you will force sexual encounters upon humans any more as a  
  
means to control."  
  
"Why not?" Brown asked, feeling a slight tweak through his earpiece  
  
that was discomforting.  
  
"There are much better ways to control humans," Smith said, with an  
  
exacting finality to his voice.  
  
Smith turned from his subordinates to look out of the window again.  
  
His precise, exacting stillness and rigidity cut a dramatic line of  
  
shadow on the carpet behind him. Jones and Brown looked at each  
  
other and left the room. Smith sat back down at his desk.  
  
"Much better ways," he said out loud, to the empty room. 


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1.  
  
[Mainframe log call: carrier line anomaly]  
  
[Log recording: trace programme running]  
  
[Trace executed: 0.2043241 seconds Time of trace 2138]  
  
[011 44 208 566 9145 United Kingdom Sector, European Matrix  
  
Construct]  
  
[fork]  
  
[dispatch agent (random) to location /identify]  
  
[/identify agent (smith)]  
  
[/fork]  
  
[copy log of transmission]  
  
[copy:  
  
Boulton@d...  
  
Boulton:  
  
The Matrix has you.  
  
We have found you.  
  
Beware the Ides of March. And London Bridge.  
  
Especially at 2200.  
  
/copy]  
  
[/log]  
  
[/end]  
  
Angela Harris stood on the platform at London Bridge train station,  
  
turning up the collar of her ankle-length black woollen coat against  
  
the icy Thameside breeze and the smell of cigarettes, fast food and  
  
decay that permeated into her hair, skin and clothing. Her train was  
  
delayed by approximately ten minutes.  
  
`Typical,' she though to herself. `Bloody typical.'  
  
The train platform was crowded for a Friday night, per usual.  
  
Drunken yobs shouted to each other from across the platform,  
  
obviously just coming off of a lads' night out. Angela, herself, had  
  
just come from work, where she was working late, again, per usual.  
  
Tower Bridge was lit up in all its glory, and the night had taken on  
  
a particularly jet black, thick presence around her, the only lights  
  
being those from the station and the bridge.  
  
Someone behind her nudged into her, pushing her a few steps forward  
  
of the painted yellow line on the dirty concrete station platform.  
  
She was about to turn around and hurl abuse at the inconsiderate  
  
commuter when she felt a hand grasp her arm, firmly, with the promise  
  
of bruising if she resisted.  
  
"Ms. Harris," the resonant baritone voice spoke into her ear, just  
  
loud enough for her to hear. "I've been looking for you."  
  
Angela didn't know what it was, but the sound of that voice sent an  
  
icy, rigid spike up through the core of her spine and she felt like  
  
the very contents of her stomach had turned to molten acid and  
  
dropped into her bowels, simultaneously warming and nauseating her.  
  
She turned her head to get a look at her assailant. The warning she  
  
received via email right before leaving the office flashed in her  
  
mind. Why didn't she pay attention to it? Whomever sent it, how  
  
could they have known this was going to happen?  
  
One glimpse of the black suit and sunglasses caused her unease to  
  
develop into full grown panic. Her eyes grew wide and breathing  
  
became rapid. It was as if all the other commuters on the platform  
  
had disappeared and all she was aware of was this man, this  
  
mysterious government agent holding her arm. She trembled from fear,  
  
the cold making it somehow worse.  
  
"Come with me." The man kept his grip on her arm and led her down  
  
the station steps and through the concourse to the outside where a  
  
black car with tinted windows was waiting for her. He was not  
  
hurried, and he gently, yet forcefully loaded her into the car,  
  
shutting the door behind her. Angela noticed the car doors had no  
  
handles on the inside. He strode to the drivers' side and got in,  
  
driving her from London Bridge to the depths of Westminster through a  
  
maze of narrow back roads, most of which Angela had never been down  
  
before, causing her to lose her bearings.  
  
"What is this about?" Angela asked to the back of the man's  
  
impeccably trimmed head, although she suspected that she knew, in the  
  
pit of her stomach.  
  
"All in good time, Ms. Harris."  
  
"Where are you taking me?" she asked.  
  
He didn't answer. The car had black leather interior and was  
  
completely silent on the inside. To his credit, the car was warm,  
  
which was the only welcoming thing about the whole situation. Angela  
  
sighed and watched as the streets of London slid around her, the dark  
  
night, and bright pinpoint lights.  
  
They pulled into a nondescript underground NCP car park and he  
  
escorted her, oddly, Angela thought, downstairs into a white room  
  
with a grey table. After motioning to her where to sit, he walked  
  
out of the room, silently shutting the door behind him, leaving her  
  
alone to wait.  
  
Angela's mind raced wildly. Webpages and hours spent logged on the  
  
net both at work and at home, hacking into government files, slid by,  
  
along with the whispers and innuendos they contained on them. She  
  
spent her life posing as an IT Helpdesk manager to give her access to  
  
her company's domain in which to hide behind when she performed her  
  
covert illegal activities. Recently, she hit up against a wall  
  
trying to hack into the NSA's security system. Trying to get access  
  
to the largest programme she had ever encountered  
  
called "construct.exe", had proved exceptionally difficult, but once  
  
she had managed to bypass the system locks she came across a whole  
  
new network, one larger than she had ever imagined, contained in a  
  
server called "Matrix 16". She did not identify any of the file  
  
extension names and doing an internet search on "*.*inv" of which  
  
there seemed to be billions of files, (each one, oddly enough, with a  
  
person's name on it), provided no clues. However, she did manage to  
  
find pages asking about "Matrix 16" and "What is the Matrix?"  
  
References to legendary hackers Morpheus, Trinity and others abounded  
  
in these discussions. She even found a message board dedicated to  
  
speculation of the origins of the Matrix.  
  
Angela remembered the content of the post she left on the board.  
  
To: matrixquestion@yahoogroups.com  
  
From: Boulton@d...  
  
14.03.99 2245  
  
Hacked NSA. Found server "Matrix 16" full of *.*inv files. What are  
  
*.*inv? Is this part of 'the Matrix' as you call it? What does this  
  
mean? Where are Matrix 1-15?  
  
Boulton  
  
Angela was sure that they didn't trace her from that post. CX  
  
domains were the anonymous "hackers' domains" set up to hide dodgy  
  
activity and provide a firewall from where hackers and spammers could  
  
conduct their activities with masked IPs.  
  
Whomever these guys were, however, Angela was sure that they had to  
  
know something of her activities online, if not the NSA job, perhaps  
  
when she did the Bank of England or the CIA. She stared up at the  
  
fluorescent light panel in the ceiling and faintly felt a rumbling.  
  
A tube train. She realised that these offices were underground in  
  
abandoned train lines. What she couldn't figure out is why her  
  
captor had an American accent?  
  
She remembered reading references of "Agents" - government personnel  
  
who were akin to cyberspace police, if she understood their role  
  
correctly, who were responsible for monitoring activity and  
  
prosecuting hackers online. Could her captor be an Agent? The idea  
  
filled her with fear. Very few hackers who had come into contact  
  
with Agents had ever been heard from again.  
  
Just then the door opened and the man returned into the room. He sat  
  
down very slowly, casually, precisely. He took his time opening the  
  
folder in front of him and placed a pen on the table in exact  
  
symmetry with the line of the folder.  
  
"Ms. Harris. You have been brought here today because of a certain  
  
activity that you like to participate in your spare time, or should I  
  
say, in time you should be spending doing your work." The man rested  
  
his hands on the table, oddly, also in exact symmetry with the pen  
  
and folder.  
  
Angela took a deep breath. She hoped that her outside appeared calm  
  
because her insides were churning and shaking. She could make out  
  
the whites of his eyes through his sunglasses, which, strangely  
  
enough, he was wearing indoors, and also, she recalled, in the dark  
  
of night on the train station and while driving in the car.  
  
"I don't understand," Angela managed to squeak out.  
  
"Bank of England, CIA, MI5, and most recently, NSA. Does that jog  
  
your memory, Ms. Harris?"  
  
Angela said nothing. She could feel her body involuntarily  
  
shivering, despite the fact that the room was not cold.  
  
"Regardless if you answer me or not, we know all about your double  
  
life that you spend online, under the hacker alias Boulton. We also  
  
know that you have been contacted by the highly dangerous outlaw Neo,  
  
this evening."  
  
"Neo." Angela whispered.  
  
The agent sat backwards in his chair and laced his fingers together,  
  
relaxed yet in charge. He eyed his quarry with some amusement.  
  
[Accessing file on Angela June Harris; .. Age 28, Resides: Bromley,  
  
Kent, United Kingdom, European Matrix Configuration, Family: none,  
  
Acquaintances: none, Hobbies: hacking, Description: short blonde  
  
hair, green eyes, 5'6", 130 lbs.. Best Methods of Ensuring  
  
Compliance: Authoritive, Threat of Loss of Liberty, Logic, Pain,  
  
Threat of Death, Forced Sexual Encounter, Serums, Death]  
  
"We cannot allow you to have contact with this man, Ms Harris. Or,  
  
shall I say, we can allow you to have contact with him for the right  
  
reasons."  
  
Smith contemplated how the description given in her file did not  
  
paint a clear enough picture of the human sitting in front of him.  
  
She was exceptionally pale, a smattering of freckles spaced  
  
approximately 1 millimetre apart on the bridge of her nose. She was  
  
medium built and would be considered physically attractive by human  
  
standards. By agent standards she would be considered something else  
  
entirely. He pushed those thoughts to one side for one moment and  
  
continued his authoritive approach.  
  
"What are the right reasons?" she asked, with trepidation.  
  
"Our reasons, Ms. Harris. Our reason that we would allow you to meet  
  
this man is to capture him. You would be assisting us in bringing a  
  
known fugitive to justice."  
  
"And what would I get in return?" Angela asked, figuring she had no  
  
way out of this anyway.  
  
"We would be willing to negotiate with you. You could go back to  
  
your life, not hacking anymore, of course, and we would erase your  
  
former indiscretions and.wipe the slate clean."  
  
"What can I do, specifically, to help you?" she asked.  
  
Smith's eyes roved over her body. Underneath this scared behaviour,  
  
Smith knew what he was really dealing with. They had been watching  
  
Boulton work for some time. At first she had been hard to pinpoint,  
  
covering her tracks exceptionally well for a human. Her logic, and  
  
the methods she used to gain access into the Matrix were admirable.  
  
Most people he saw had either stumbled upon it by mistake or were  
  
given the information by the Resistance. She figured it out with no  
  
outside help. A keen, exacting mind, logical, rational, determined  
  
and precise. In Smith's experience, this couldn't be said for most  
  
humans. Her file indicated that she did not need the company of  
  
others, and generally eschewed social events. Even her work  
  
evaluations praised her for her work, high flagging her for the top  
  
if only she would kiss the right ass. Of all the humans he had the  
  
misfortune of dealing with, she should be the easiest, because he  
  
understood how her mind worked. The Mainframe had made that clear  
  
when assigning him.  
  
"So you are agreeing to be of assistance to us?" Smith asked her.  
  
"Do I have any other choice?" she asked.  
  
"A wise decision, Ms. Harris. You won't regret it." Smith smiled  
  
and removed his sunglasses. Angela was taken aback by his deep  
  
cobalt blue eyes. Seeing the Agent's full face made him seem a bit  
  
more human, but his mere presence around her still felt threatening.  
  
He was not unattractive, much the opposite in fact. Either the suit  
  
or the clean precision of everything about him created a very  
  
alluring and striking package, reminding Angela of how very alone she  
  
was, in every way. His voice jolted her from that thought and  
  
brought her back to reality.  
  
"Would you like a cup of tea?"  
  
Angela slowly nodded. The agent stood up and opened the door for  
  
her, leading her out of the room, through what appeared to be some  
  
sort of reception area. Angela swore that it was not there earlier  
  
when she was being led in. The stark white and grey of the room  
  
illuminated by fluorescent panels only accentuated the emptiness of  
  
them. He led her through another door into a canteen of sorts.  
  
There was a kettle, teabags, milk, sugar, lemon and a single teacup  
  
with spoon sitting on a solitary counter against the wall, almost as  
  
if it had been laid out for her. Again, a single table, slightly  
  
larger, with four chairs, sat in the centre of the room.  
  
"Help yourself," Smith said, and then he disappeared from behind her,  
  
back into the reception. Angela busied herself making the tea, and  
  
did not hear Smith re-enter with two others. When she turned around  
  
from the counter she was face to face with three Agents, as if from  
  
nowhere.  
  
"What is going on?" she asked Smith, fear rising again in her throat,  
  
reminding her of the anticipation of sitting at the doctors waiting  
  
for a jab. "Can I please have some real answers?"  
  
Smith sat down calmly. The other two agents sat around him, leaving  
  
the empty chair across the table from Smith. He held out his hand  
  
for her to sit and slowly, tentatively, she did, spilling her tea  
  
slightly over the rim of the teacup and saucer because her hands were  
  
shaking.  
  
"An experiment, Ms. Harris. An experiment we wish to conduct," Smith  
  
answered.  
  
"What sort of experiment?" Angela asked. She nervously stirred her  
  
tea and fidgeted slightly.  
  
"One that may change the very precedents of this world you live in,"  
  
the taller one answered.  
  
"One that may provide more insight into humanity," the short, fair  
  
haired one chimed in. Angela noted that they were all wearing their  
  
sunglasses again.  
  
"And where do I fit into all of this?" she asked Smith, growing more  
  
afraid and annoyed simultaneously. He smiled again, which only  
  
served to make these feelings worse, as she couldn't help but notice  
  
a touch of the sinister in the smile.  
  
"You are the test subject, Ms. Harris." 


End file.
